Clandestine
by translucency for summertime
Summary: Sirius was what seemed to be worlds away. Locked up in Azkaban. Just when Remus needed him the most. Oh, how Remus hated him. But how Remus loved him still, despite everything that he had done. But not as much as he hated Sirius for leaving him alone.
1. 1: Fugitive

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. Ifan de Grier, however, is mine so should you desire to use him you'd have to check with me first. Which I really don't anticipate will be a problem. Isn't his name just beautiful though??? =D

**Warning**: Slight swearing and homosexual themes. Should that offend you, then you are reading the wrong story.

* * *

Remus Lupin sobbed quietly into his drink, tucked into the corner of a dingy bar. The _Three Elves_ was anything but elfish, lacking the culture, the politeness, the finesse of the namesake. No, this bar was nothing like that. Dirt crusted every corner, a foreign sludge making up the floor below the flea-infested booths.

His entire body shuddered as a cold shiver ran up his spine. He wrapped his worn hand around himself, showing off his blackened fingernails, bitten to the quick. Tear tracks ran down his filthy cheeks, greasy hair hanging into tired eyes.

He wanted to so much to go somewhere, anywhere else than here. To go and see his friends again, see James's broad and easy grin, Lily's tender smile, Peter's bright eyes, even to hear Sirius's bark of a laugh. Even to see Sirius only to kill him with his own bare hands. To shake him and ask him what the _hell_ he thought he was doing that night. To demand to know why he took away everything Remus had.

Even just to place one more kiss in that special place just below his ear but above the corner of his jaw. That place that made Sirius gasp and moan for Remus to give him more. Even to give into Sirius's selfish desire and give himself to the older man and be lost in lust.

But Sirius was what seemed to be worlds away. Locked up in Azkaban. Remus chuckled darkly to himself.

After all, Sirius was the one who killed James's grin, never to be flashed casually again. Slaughtered Lily, her bright eyes gone out. Obliterated Peter, leaving nothing but a measly appendage to show that a Peter Pettigrew had once existed.

Oh, how Remus hated him.

But how Remus loved him still, despite everything that he had done.

He hated himself for loving that murderer.

But not as much as he hated Sirius for leaving him all alone.

* * *

Ifan de Grier stepped off of the train and onto the platform of Kings Cross Station. Mouth held down in a stubborn frown, he tugged at the handcuffs that held his hands together behind his back.

His personal auror stepped out after him. She reached into her purse and withdrew a key, with which she unlocked the handcuffs and placed both back into the bag.

"Ifan de Grier, you are hereby released from my holdings on you. As a now legal werewolf, you are stripped of some rights, as stated in the Ministry's Guide to Dangerous Animals, Werewolf Edition Section 2.4. This has occurred for your own good, as well as the good of the citizens of England. You are on probation. Should you attempt to flee the country again, you will be incarcerated for a period of no less than three months," she informed him.

A man beside her handed her a dark-wooded wand, which she accepted with a cool smile. "You are being given back your wand this time, as it's only your second offense against the Ministry. Should you do _anything_ against the law again, it will be snapped in half and you will be deprived of wand-magic."

She handed it to Ifan. "Here you are," she said. "Oh, and breaking the law applies to even minor things, such as shoplifting, loitering, vandalism…"

"I would advise not doing it," she told him.

He nodded. "Is that all?" he drawled, a thick Irish accent on his tongue.

She frowned. "For now," she replied crisply. "Korev!"

Korev, the other man with them, cast a charm over Ifan, making him shiver as the coolness of the magic settled into his skin.

At Ifan's questioning look, she explained, "Just a standard tracking spell. We're required to do it with all people the Ministry are keeping tabs on."

"Meaning werewolves," Ifan said.

She smiled unsympathetically. "Werewolves are a menace to society," she sniffed. "If I had my way you'd all be locked up in a silver-lined cell for the rest of your pathetic little lives."

Korev cleared his throat behind her. He gave her a warning look.

She turned back to Ifan and rolled her eyes. "However, there are still _some_ people that believe that method of treating the plague of dangerous creatures unethical," she finished, "What they're thinking, I haven't a clue."

Ifan's unpleasant look turned sour.

She smiled brightly. "Don't make us come and get you again, Mr. de Grier. Believe me, you do not want to cross the Ministry twice."

She flounced away from him, with Korev following slowly. Ifan stuck his wand in the back pocket of his jeans and turned to leave, when he heard her say, "Oh, and have a nice day!"

He growled in response, "Believe me, I won't."

He glanced around the station at the busy crowds of people. "Where to now?" he wondered aloud.

* * *

Remus slammed his fist against the door of his house angrily. A letter emblazoned EVICTION NOTICE was tacked onto the red paint he himself had taken the time to apply one summer. More important that that was the padlock his landlord had placed over the doorknob, keeping him from entering the warmth, or at least warmer than the frigid wind that bit at his bare skin.

"Shit," he uttered.

He rested his forehead against the door. The cool paint was sticky against his forehead, to which he chuckled to himself about. What an anomaly. Wouldn't it be the opposite?

Summoning up all the energy he had left, he made for his landlord's house, which was located near the back of the hundred acre estate. Remus's home had just been a worn out little flat before he fixed it up. When you entered through the door, you soon ran into a wall and had to turn into the tiny little living room off of the kitchenette. Then when you got to the spot of hardwood floor beside the living room's carpeting and kitchen's linoleum, you turned into a hallway that led to a single bedroom and small bathroom.

He gritted his teeth.

_He_ was the one to pour all of his blood, sweat, and tears into that shit hole to make it a home. _He _was the one who had painted everything over with _his_ own money and hours of _his_ life. The house was easily worth three times its value when he was done with it.

How could that son-of-a-bitch throw him out after all he'd done?

He calmed himself as he walked with purpose down the dirt path and through the forest.

It was illegal for werewolves to own property or else he would have been out of there the moment he had saved up enough money. Instead the Ministry forced him to rent from a squib that was prejudiced against Remus's very being, Remus having to grovel and beg the entire way along.

"Findish!" Remus called as he pounded on the door of the landlord's house.

A scuffling came from inside, and Avery Findish opened the door a crack so he could see out. When he saw that it was Remus who was standing out there, he stiffened. "What is it?" he spat out.

Remus frowned. He didn't want an argument with the man, but if that's what it came to, he'd be more than happy to oblige. "Why is there an eviction notice on my door?" he inquired calmly, "Haven't I paid my rent on time? Haven't I done everything you've asked of me without batting an eyelash?"

Findish shut the door and unchained the lock. When he opened it back up, Remus could see into the filth of his house. A dog ran out between the space between its master's legs and the doorframe. Remus stepped aside to let it through.

"I don' wan' you on my property anymo', _we'ewolf_," he said simply through a mouthful of chewing tobacco.

Remus grimaced at the sight of the dark liquid spilling out of the other man's mouth with every word he said. "There are bylaws that you have to follow in evicting one of your tenants, Avery, even for werewolves," he explained.

Findish spat on the ground, dangerously close to Remus's feet. He grinned, showing off yellowed teeth and dark gaps where they had fallen out. "The Min'stry don' require me to do nothing," Findish drawled.

Remus frowned. "Yes, actually, they do…" he begun, but the other man cut him off.

"No, actually, they don'," Findish interrupted. "Acco'ding to these new laws just passed, we'ewolves have less rights than house-elves." He smiled widely. "I can do whateve' I want to now an' they wouldn' give less of a damn."

Remus grew pale.

"An' that's exactly why you can' live here anymo'," Findish finished with a nod of the head. "An' don' think that I'm only evictin' you 'cause you a we'ewolf. I don' want no queers on my land eithe'."

Remus turned to leave. Findish frowned, but let him go. "An' get you' shit outta tha' house befo' nightfall or it's mine!" he called after him.

* * *

Ifan stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. He had asked a woman who had also gotten off of the train, and she had given him directions. He smiled. If she had known what he was, he was sure that she wouldn't have given it a second thought before she walked away. Or calling the police for him 'harassing' her.

He found that things were a lot different now than he remembered them being before he had left England five years ago. Werewolves still had some rights; they were still treated like one would treat a decent human being. Now it was like he was walking leprosy, like everything he touched had to be decontaminated or else something awful would happen.

He hated it here.

Before that woman, Megan Samuels, had tracked him down, he had been enjoying himself in New Zealand. Ifan had been living in an inn for free rent, as he helped the woman who owned it fix up the place. He had been a person in that muggle community. Eventually, he had to tell the woman what he was, and she let him use her basement for transforming.

But now he also knew who had turned him in to the English aurors that had been scouring the world for _their_ werewolves. They wouldn't have cared about him if he was American or Russian. He was a sodding Englishman.

And apparently, the Ministry keeps their own within eyesight. They obviously didn't want their mess to turn up on foreign soil, afraid of the many complications it would cause.

"Do you have a room for one?" he asked the bartender with a toothy smile.

The man nodded and knelt behind the bar to get something. When he returned to his previous stance, he know was holding a key ring. "Follow me, sir," the bartender told him.

Ifan was taken aback. He hadn't been called 'sir' for a long time. Ifan had thought that there was some kind of brand on him that stated 'I am a werewolf, don't get within a ten foot radius of me'. He shook his head and followed to man up the stairs.

"I'm Tom, should you need anything I'm usually downstairs. If I'm not, Margie's the cook and she'll get you whatever you need," Tom said kindly. He unlocked the door and opened the door, letting Ifan in before leaving.

Ifan observed the room. The floors were shining, boasting that they were newly scrubbed, and the bed had fresh linens. He threw himself down on top of the four-poster and sighed.

Back home at last.

* * *

"Hello, Tom," Remus greeted the man as he sat down at the bar.

"Remus!" Tom cheered, "Long time no see, my friend." Tom set down the glasses he was cleaning and poured Remus a drink. When Remus protested, Tom put it in front of him anyway. "On the house," he insisted.

"Thank you," Remus said softly before taking a sip. He turned his gaze back onto Tom. "I need a room for awhile," he told him. "Just until I can get back on my feet. I can pay up front."

"What happened to your place?" Tom inquired, taking the money that Remus drew out of his wallet.

"My landlord decided that I was no longer welcome there," Remus replied simply.

Tom smiled sympathetically. "Well, you'll always be welcome here. When you're done with your drink, just holler for Margie and she'll take you up to your room. I have a meeting with a man named Roger to decide how much he'll be getting paid for selling me his produce this year."

Remus told him goodbye and good luck. To which Tom thanked him.

When Tom had left, Remus noticed how bare the usually bustling pub was. He glanced at the calendar on the wall. December 20th. Most people were at home with their loved ones, getting ready for Christmas.

He sat at the bar alone and nursed his scotch.

--

The next morning, the Ifan found himself downstairs eating breakfast alone at a table. He pushed the porridge around with his spoon, not really wanting to eat the grey sludge. He sighed and scooped a spoonful into his mouth.

Remus walked down the stairs, book in hand, into the dining area. Not paying attention as to where he was going, he nearly walked into Ifan's table.

"Oh, excuse me," Remus apologized, flushing with embarrassment, "I was just so wrapped up in my book, I didn't even notice where I was going."

Ifan raised his hand to wave away his apologies and finished chewing the lumpy oatmeal. "Not a problem," Ifan told him. "What book are you reading?"

Remus paid more attention to the man and noticed that a scar ran down the middle of his face. Four parallel claw marks across an otherwise attractive face. "The Picture of Dorian Gray," he said, "This is my first time reading it."

"Good book," Ifan agreed. Remus stood awkwardly at the other end of the table. "Sit down," Ifan invited. At Remus's uncertain look, Ifan said, "I've always wanted to discuss it with someone. And now we can over breakfast."

Remus obliged, but did not talk. Instead, he continued to stare at Ifan's face.

Ifan's mouth quirked into a smirk. "What?" he asked, "Are you stunned in awe of my beauty?" He snorted. "Yeah, I know I'm not a looker. Ladies don't like me much. But…if that's going to be a problem…"

"No, no," Remus said, flushing an even brighter red. "It's not that at all. You look perfect…ly fine," he recovered, not wanting to scare away what could be a prospective friend. "It's just," his voice dropped to a whisper. Ifan leaned into hear him, and Remus leaned in as well. "Did it hurt much?" Remus inquired softly.

"Yes," Ifan didn't turn his eyes away but continued to stare into Remus's with confidence. "Very much."

* * *

So, new story. This one'll be on the backburner for bit until I finish up Elegy. Which should actually be quite soon. But expect the next chapter within a week.

Up next will be a continuance of Ifan and Remus's conversation plus some more stuff.

Let me know what you think, please and thank you.


	2. 2: Hunted

"It was blatantly obvious as to Wilde's sexuality through his writing," Remus argued, eyes alight from the steady conversation he and Ifan had been holding and new energy coursing through his body.

"Is it obvious because of who Oscar is, or because he wanted it to be written that way," Ifan countered. Remus sat back and smiled. Ifan chuckled. "What is it?"

"You speak of him as if you know him," Remus explained. When Ifan raised an eyebrow, he quickly said, "It's just very refreshing is all. It's been ages since I've had a solid debate with someone over a novel. Most people these days would rather flip on the telly than to read a challenging text."

Ifan nodded. "T'is refreshing," he agreed. "Something I could get used to."

A warm silence fell over the two. Remus stirred his spoon into the tea that had been delivered to him in the middle of their conversation. When he was happy with the milky coloring that had been swirled through, he took the spoon out and placed it on his napkin.

"So," Ifan said, "What brings you to London this time of the year?"

Remus stared into his tea cup. "I hadn't anywhere else to go," he admitted softly, "so I figured I'd come here. Lots of good memories occurred for me here. A long time ago."

Ifan nodded his head. "Christmas is as good a time as any for remembering."

Remus smiled. "What about you?" he inquired.

"Well," Ifan glanced shiftily around the pub, only to find it as empty as it had been when they had first arrived, "I just got back into the country actually."

"Oh, really?" Remus asked excitedly, "Where did you come back from?"

"New Zealand," Ifan confided. "Before that I was in Australia, Africa, India. All over the southern hemisphere. I'm what you could call a traveler. Or was, at least."

"But not anymore?"

"No. Not anymore," Ifan concluded sadly. "You see, I had this plan to travel all over the world. To point my finger on a map and then go there whenever money allowed. I wanted to see it all, experience it all. You know?"

"Yes, I understand," Remus told him. He felt that he could relate with Ifan, as he was banned from traveling. However, Remus did not know yet that Ifan's reason for traveling was the exact same as his. He had found many years ago that werewolf-speak was taboo in a conversation and was to be saved for deep into a relationship, if ever.

"Yes. Being a fugitive of the law is never good for traveling," Ifan laughed.

"A fugitive of the law?" Remus repeated.

"Yes," Ifan's smile faded. He sucked in a breath and went for it. "I'm a werewolf."

"Excuse me?" Remus spluttered. His face went pink, he was sure that somehow Ifan had found out about himself and was making fun of him.

Ifan sighed. "I thought I might as well get it out in the open. I'm a werewolf, and if you have a problem with it you can leave, no bad feelings between us at all." He paused. "At least, no bad feelings on my part, anyway. Can't really dictate what you feel."

"Oh," was all that Remus could say.

Ifan stared at his hands, which he spread open to admire the many scars that littered his palm. "I was bitten while I was abroad, actually," he admitted. "When I was in Italy. Right outside of Rome." He chuckled to himself. "Oh, the irony. I was transformed into a werewolf outside of Rome and am now talking to a Remus." He switched his gaze to Remus's amber eyes. His grin faded, light wrinkles slowly evening out. "The Ministry inevitably tracked me down in New Zealand, four years after the fact. Made it out to seem like I'd been a werewolf in England and therefore had fled from it. I didn't even know about the stupid laws, and that they applied even after you'd been gone for awhile."

"I knew it," Remus whispered.

"What?" Ifan's attention snapped back to Remus rapidly.

"I knew you were a werewolf," Remus told him.

Ifan didn't smile. "What are you, the werewolf whisperer?" he asked coldly. "If you're going to make a joke of my condition, I'd rather you just leave."

"No!" Remus defended himself. "It's nothing like that."

Ifan didn't speak, but instead paid immaculate attention to the now cold and lumpy porridge that sat in front of him. He spooned through the mush, face hardened and eyes guarded.

"I…" Remus began, wanting desperately to convey what he felt to Ifan but not finding the words, "I…I don't care about that."

When Ifan snorted, Remus protested, "I really don't! I swear!"

Ifan smiled coolly, "Well that's a first."

Remus took a breath. He knew that Ifan wouldn't believe him unless he gave a reason why. "I have a friend who's a werewolf," he lied. He just couldn't give the real reason. "Well, had," he corrected himself.

Ifan's ears perked. "What happened?"

"He died," Remus said shortly. "A long time ago."

"But he was a werewolf?" Ifan whispered, the soft breath of words gliding upon the silence of the open room. Ifan had never actually met another werewolf. Yes, he could have gone to the rallies that he had heard of on the international magical news networks abroad, but he had never felt like he had belonged with _those_ kind of people. _Those _people knew what their purpose was, they were advocates of their kind. Of his kind. They were proud to be known as werewolves, they could flaunt it.

He barely acknowledged the fact that he was no longer human.

"He was bitten when he was four," Remus elaborated. "He'd been playing out in the woods that surrounded his house. I guess he'd just wandered away too far from home," he shrugged, "Later that evening, it was getting dark, and he tried to find his way home. That's when he ran into the werewolf."

Ifan sucked in a breath. Hearing someone else's account of how someone had been bitten brought back old memories of how he had been turned.

Remus laughed coldly. "His mother found him, but it was too late. The bastard had already gotten away, and the kid was close to death from losing so much blood."

"She rushed him to a muggle hospital, as his dad had been the wizard of the family and had died before he was born. All the muggle doctors could do was clean up the bite and give him a blood infusion. Imagine her surprise when the next month her little boy began screaming bloody murder and transformed into a wolf."

"She didn't know?" Ifan asked in surprise. He knew that the Ministry was usually pretty good at tracking muggle-magical mixed families, especially when the magical spouse died and there were children. "What about the magical family registry that your Ministry supposedly keeps?"

Remus scoffed, "That was when Voldemort was first starting up, and the Ministry was falling to shambles. They hadn't clue as to what was going on in their own building, let alone outside of it. His mother was too scared to tell anyone. Her husband had never told her that he was a wizard, so she was completely in the dark."

"It wasn't until his Hogwarts letter arrived seven years later that things began to make sense. She put his college fund towards buying supplies for school and off he went. He was so full of ideas that the wizarding world would be so much more advanced than the muggle one because of their magic, and that it was just a matter of time until his monthly problem was taken care of."

"Then he got to the school after riding on the train all alone. The other kids stayed away from him. They all knew each other already, and outsiders were not allowed," Remus cracked a grim smile. "Hogwarts can be so stereotypically clique-y."

"I take it you went there with him?" Ifan assumed.

"Yeah," Remus replied. "He was in my year. We slept in the same dorm. He told me that after he arrived at Hogwarts he was whisked up to the headmaster's office where he was told that he wasn't to tell anyone about his condition, that it would only cause unneeded problems for himself and the staff. That parents didn't like the idea of their children going to school with a monster."

"He found out that the world wasn't what he was expecting out of it," Ifan finished. He smiled tightly. "I know the feeling."

Remus's eyes flickered between Ifan's eyes and the scar. "He died after that first year of school. One of the kids at school found out what he was and slipped some liquid silver into his pumpkin juice at the going away feast. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse," he added for Ifan's sake, "tried everything she could to get the silver out of him. They even transferred him to St. Mungo's."

Ifan said, "That's so sad." His eyes frowned. "What happened to his mother?"

"His mother?" Remus repeated quizzically. Ifan nodded. "Well, she died during the war. Three years ago on Christmas."

"God, that's sad," Ifan said again. He ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw. "He just died? Just like that?"

"Silver's worse than poison to werewolves," Remus explained.

"That's one twisted eleven year old," Ifan exclaimed.

Remus shrugged, "Prejudices run deep."

Ifan let silence hang heavy over them once again, wrapping the two in a cloak of darkness. Remus lost himself in his memories, face gaunt with haunted feelings. Ifan reached over and grasped his hand protectively within his own.

* * *

The dark spread across the sky, low clouds overtaking the small stars' light. The woods below whispered as a frigid wind rustled their bare limbs. Three wizards stood on the stoop of Avery Finch's house, wands out and glowing. When he answered the door, there was no room for niceties.

"Finch, Avery M.?" a dark skinned man inquired as he read off a file, not bothering to look up at the man.

"Who's askin'?" Finch replied gruffly. He scratched at his stomach through his stained wife beater.

Another man than who asked the question answered. "The Ministry of Magic is asking, Mr. Finch. The ward of Recording Dangerous Creatures, to be exact. We're here to inquire about a Remus J. Lupin."

Finch's mouth stopped mid-chew, leaving his jaw popped out in an awkward position. "Wha' about 'im?"

The third man didn't smile. "We've been informed that he has been residing in your spare house for the past few years," he told him.

"Yeah, he 'as," Finch admitted. "I kicked 'im out yesterday, actually. Bleedin' werewolf, he was."

The first man sighed. "Yes, Mr. Finch. We are aware of that fact, thank you."

The second man snickered. "Stupid squib," he scoffed.

The first man shot him a dangerous look. "Now, now, Dawlish, that's not the way to treat the interrogatee," he admonished.

Dawlish scowled at him. "Yes, as you're such an abider of the rules, Shacklebolt," he teased.

"Children," the third interrupted coldly, "we're here to do a job. Let's do it so I can go home and sleep."

Dawlish and Shacklebolt ceased their chatter, and the third man continued to speak to Finch. "Why exactly did you terminate Mr. Lupin's residence here?" he asked.

Finch sneered. "I don' wan' to have a werewolf on my land, simple as tha'."

"Didn't you know that Mr. Lupin was a werewolf when he first moved into the house?" he dug deeper.

"Sure I did," Finch shrugged. "Wasn' a law that allowed me to refuse tenants just because they're werewolves then. There is now."

Dawlish and Shacklebolt exchanged a look between the two of them. In defense, Finch continued, "Plus, he used to live in this 'ouse when he was a kid. When 'is mum died, I bought the place. It didn' feel right to turn 'im away when he was done with school and had nowhere else to go."

The third man let a smile creep onto his face. _So_ _that man had a conscious after all_, he thought to himself. "Yet you feel just fine letting him go now?"

Finch scowled. "Why does it matter why I fel' like lettin' a renter go? Why is it a Ministry problem?"

The third man merely smiled coolly and replied, "It's no longer a problem. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Finch."

Finch merely grunted in response and slammed the door on the three aurors.

Shacklebolt turned to the third man. "If that's it, then why did we come all the way out here, Scrimgeour?" he asked.

The third man, Scrimgeour, didn't respond but merely apparated away.

"An odd one, that man," Dawlish remarked to Shacklebolt before they followed suit.

Finch let go of his curtains when he saw that the three had left, allowing burgundy to fall against the cracked glass.

* * *

Second chapter! And before I posted another Elegy chapter! le gasp!

Hope you enjoy!


	3. 3: Anymore

"Good morning, Mr. Lupin," Remus was greeted teasingly when he stepped off of the last creaky step from the dark stairwell and into the morning glow cast upon the threshold of the dining hall, clutching his Daily Prophet and adorned by ragged grey slippers.

He smiled warily. "Hullo, Ifan," he sleepily replied to the man who was leaning against a pillar, reading a clean cut novel that looked as if it had been recently bought. He, unlike Remus, was fully dressed in dark blue jeans and a grey shirt hidden by a brown jacket. Ifan appraised the man before him with shining eyes.

Ifan pushed himself off of the pillar, grinning ear to ear, and exclaimed excitedly, "Do we have a busy today, my tired friend!" Remus frowned when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar. Had he looked that tired when he went to bed last night?

Ifan left no room for any more of Remus's questioning thoughts when he grasped Remus by the elbow and dragged him back up the stairs from which he came. Ifan sprung up them lightly, but continued to hold onto Remus, which caused the other man to stumble to try to keep up.

Ifan took them to Remus's room. He flung upon the door and proceeded in, finally letting go of Remus. He followed Ifan in, curious. "Busy day?" he inquired quietly, standing in the doorway while Ifan ransacked his dresser.

"Yes," Ifan said without pausing or turning around, "Incredibly so, actually." He didn't say anymore, but submerged himself into another drawer.

He came out of that drawer empty-handedly as well. Ifan turned and surveyed Remus with a cool expression. "When need to get you some clothes, mate," he explained simply. "These rags you have just won't do."

Remus pulled a face at the man, who grinned good-naturedly in return. "Just another part of our busy day," Ifan allowed.

"What exactly are we doing today?" Remus asked again.

Ifan was pushing the drawers back into their places. "Shopping and hunting," he replied. "Shopping for clothes for you, apothecary for me. Hunting for jobs for both of us."

"Erm, a job?" Remus repeated.

Ifan stared at him curiously. "Yes, a job," he said as if it were Remus who were the odd one in that room, "You can't very well expect me to believe that you really were just waltzing through London and decided to stay here for some chuckles over old memories. And with those rags. Either you're a tight-wad, or you're dirt poor."

Remus stared back.

"The way I figure it, whichever you are could use something to do," Ifan finished. "At least, I know I could use it."

Remus looked down at his slippers thoughtfully. "You know," Remus spoke softly, thinking over his words. "I haven't been completely honest with you, Ifan."

Ifan walked towards him and out the door. As he was halfway to his room, he called, "Oh, yeah?"

"It's rather important, Ifan," Remus told him, following him to his room, "Please listen."

Ifan stopped what he was doing and turned around abruptly. "I wouldn't dream of doing anything but," he replied honestly. His eyes gazed directly into Remus's, which caused the tawny-haired young man to blush slightly. "I'm listening, love," he breathed huskily, the first reference Remus had picked up towards his sexual preferences.

"You know how I was talking about my friend yesterday?" Remus continued, ignoring his increasingly sweaty palms and back of his throat, "The one who died?"

"Yes," Ifan answered, luminous eyes staring into Remus's.

"Well…" Remus admitted, "He wasn't my friend."

"Who was he then?" Ifan asked, brushing his bangs out of his eyes idly.

"He was me," Remus answered, looking down at his feet again.

Ifan snorted and continued to walk towards his room. Remus looked up in surprise. He made a part disgruntled and part surprised noise from the back of his throat. Ifan let out a bark of laughter that reminded Remus painfully of a dark dog he knew. "I figured," Ifan replied as he jiggled the door knob to his room open.

"Oh, really?" Remus said, more of a reaction to Ifan's nonchalance toward the situation than an actual question.

"Yes, really," Ifan turned about again. Remus had caught up with him, and they were standing close, one in front of the other. "It's a bit odd when you're talking intimately about yourself when all of a sudden the other converser brings up a friend who died…what?" Ifan screwed up his face in deep thought, "No more than fifteen years ago, am I correct?"

"I'm twenty-two," Remus answered. "So actually, it would have been eleven years ago."

"Hm," Ifan thought. "Stress lines really do add years onto your appearance, Remus. We need to buy you some face cream or something today as well."

Ifan opened his door and went into his room. Remus hovered in the doorway once more. Ifan said exasperatedly, "Do come in, I promise I won't bite too hard."

Remus followed instruction, and Ifan pointed him to a chair in the corner of the room. Remus sat in it, and found himself watching Ifan's backside while Ifan shifted through his own dresser.

Ifan handed him a pair of jeans and a green sweater. "Here you are," he intoned, "Thought the green would look nice against your honey eyes."

"Er, thanks?" Remus replied, taking the clothes.

"You change, I'll be downstairs waiting," Ifan instructed, leaving abruptly.

When Ifan had left, Remus looked about the room. It wasn't too different than his, after all they were living in the same inn. The chair was in a different corner, and Ifan was blessed with a bed spread that didn't look as if it had been vomited upon repeatedly. But not too different.

His eyes trailed over the dresser's top. Along it laid a watch, some odd coins that Remus figured had to be from one of the various countries Ifan had traveled in, and a picture frame. He set the clothes upon the bed, and took the picture frame in his hands, fingers stroking the wooden frame.

The picture was of one man, who Remus figured to be Ifan, and another, who Remus recognized to be one of the chasers on Sirius's favorite Quidditch team. They were posed intimately, Ifan holding the smaller man in his arms. Both laughed at something the photographer had said, before Ifan leaned down for a chaste kiss.

Remus felt his stomach clench. He set the picture back upon the dresser and changed into the clothing.

He made his way downstairs, trying to ignore the feeling of dread that had settled upon his chest and deep in his stomach. "Don't be daft," he told himself, "It's not like Ifan's trying to be anything but friends anyway. What does it matter that he already has a boyfriend?" _Besides, _a nagging voice told him, _you already have Sirius._

"There you are!" Ifan exclaimed when he saw Remus in his clothing. "You look absolutely lovely." Ifan was sitting at the bar, where Tom was pouring him a suspicious-looking amber liquid.

"Yes, well, the jeans are a bit tight," Remus denounced, he would much rather be wearing his normal robes than such muggle attire.

"Nonsense, they make your ass look great," Ifan told him, turning his attention to his drink. He took a sip and cringed as he swallowed. "Never was one for hard liquor," he explained.

Remus had stiffened after the previous comment, sure that Ifan was trying to pick him up whilst still dating the Quidditch player, and he was determined not to be the other man. Ifan glanced over his shoulder at him, and frowned. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's nothing," Remus lied. He visibly brightened and said, "So, are you ready to start dragging me about Diagon Alley, or what?"

Ifan didn't look convinced but let it go. "I suppose I am!" he exclaimed. He took another swig of his liquor before stretching and making his way toward the door.

* * *

"Are we finished yet?" Remus complained as they stepped into the seventh store. They had already checked off all of Ifan's errands, including the trip to the apothecary, down Knockturn Alley to a secondhand wands shop ("I don't like the idea of the Ministry tracking me," Ifan had explained through narrowed eyes as they dodged getting mugged by a witch missing an eye, "It just doesn't sit well with me."), and to Florean Fortescue's for two pineapple ice creams.

Ifan laughed, once more reminding Remus of Sirius. He found it uncanny how much alike they were, and yet how different Ifan was still. "Poor you," he teased, "Not cut out for a bit of shopping. We haven't even gotten to your list, nor the job part."

Remus laughed. "Yeah, poor me indeed," he replied.

"To Madam Malkin's!" Ifan proposed, before dragging him off down the street to the robe-maker's store.

"If we must," Remus grumbled.

A bell dinged as they walked through the door. One of the employees hurried over to them from their previous stance behind the counter. "Hello," she beamed at Remus, "What can we do for you today?"

Ifan scowled and in response said, "We're here for a pair of jeans and a couple of shirts for him."

"Jeans?" she asked, stopping smiling and turning her nose up, "We don't sell muggle attire here. Just robes and underclothing."

Ifan cocked his eyebrows up. "You don't? What a shame," he replied. Pondering aloud, he said, "Underclothing? Like shirts and dress pants?"

She nodded, "The regular things that wizards wear."

Ifan's scowl deepened. "Do you take credit?" he asked, slipping his hand into his pocket to retrieve a wallet.

"Credit?" she repeated.

"Yeah, like muggle credit cards?" he elaborated, pulling out a rectangle of shiny plastic.

"No, we do not," she answered, beginning to edge away from the pair.

"Well aren't you behind the times," Ifan muttered below his breath.

"What was that?" she asked with a fake smile.

"Nothing at all," he gritted, "We won't be requiring your services today." With that, Ifan dragged Remus out of the store, slamming the door shut on the way out.

"That was efficient," Remus drawled sarcastically as Ifan stormed away from the place.

"Ugh, what an awful woman," Ifan groaned, ignoring Remus's remark.

"She seemed perfectly pleasant," Remus reasoned.

"Only because she was smiling at you the entire time," Ifan told him. "Ugh, from the moment she used the royal 'we' I knew she would be a pain. Imagine, not taking muggle credit cards! What a way to turn away perfectly good business."

"Royal we, eh?" Remus smiled jovially.

"Indeed," Ifan returned. He muttered under his breath, but about what Remus had no idea. He found himself not listening anymore when he caught sight of this month's issue of the Quibbler lying on the ground across the way.

The headline boasted "Mass Murderer Sirius Black: Voldemort's Servant or Reincarnate of Agrippa?" Below the white lettering was a picture of Remus's dark haired friend. _Ex_friend, he corrected himself.

Ifan stopped talking and took note of Remus's pale face.

"Whatever's the matter?" he asked, concerned. He followed Remus's gaze to the magazine. "Oh," he remarked, "Even though I was halfway across the world, the wizarding community still heard of that. Nasty bugger he must be. It was an awful thing he did, killing all those people."

Remus flinched at Ifan's cold words.

"Don't you think?" Ifan finished, looking at him curiously.

Remus decided to take a new route to his and Ifan's impending friendship. "Of course what he did was awful," Remus allowed, "I just knew him personally is all."

"Oh really?" Ifan chewing over his words, contemplating over what to say next. He decided not to ask for information, but let Remus offer it to him whenever he felt comfortable doing so.

"Yes," Remus closed the conversation. "But not anymore."

* * *

Tom was closing up the pub when three aurors stepped in. "Hullo, boys," he greeted cheerfully, wiping down the counter, "What can I do for you tonight?"

Dawlish managed a smile, and Shacklebolt nodded his head in Tom's direction. Scrimgeour, however, stared coolly at the bartender. "We're here to inquire about a Remus J. Lupin," Dawlish told him, "We have reason to believe that you are harboring him here at your inn."

"Harboring?" Tom chuckled, "You make Remus sound as if he's a fugitive of the law."

None of them denied or claimed his statement. Tom's smile fell. "He's staying here, yes. But he's done nothing wrong. He's paid up front, told me that he was looking for a steady job just this morning. Remus is a law-abiding citizen and a good man," Tom replied.

"Are you aware that Mr. Lupin is a werewolf?" Scrimgeour took over the conversation, sneering slightly as he uttered 'werewolf' as if it was a profanity.

Tom stiffened. "I dunno how that's any of anyone's business," he said flatly, "but yes, I am aware of that."

Scrimgeour showed his teeth in a snarl-like smile. "The infliction of lycanthropy is everyone's business, my good sir. Who they are, where they are, what they're doing…well, let's just say that the Ministry is not willing to let this _disease_ spread any more than it needs to. We like to keep collars on our animals," he informed.

"Why Remus then?" Tom asked boldly.

"Excuse me?"

"Why Remus then?" he repeated, "I happen to know of another werewolf that's staying here at my inn. Why aren't you asking about Mr. Ifan de Grier?"

Scrimgeour didn't miss a beat as he responded, "de Grier has been abroad for the past decade. We're keeping…_special _tabs on him. Just to make sure that he's settling in well. That he's not causing too much of a ruckus."

"Special tabs?" Tom asked puzzledly. "As in a tracking charm?"

"Good day," Scrimgeour said shortly, before twirling around and exiting.

Dawlish followed after timidly, but not before saying, "Have a nice night."

Shacklebolt waited until the door fell shut, before turning his gaze onto Tom. "If I were you," he warned his friend, "I wouldn't ask more questions than needed, Tom."

* * *

And the plot thickens!

Leave me some love, sorry for the wait.


	4. Interlude: to be Imprisoned

When Sirius Black was a young boy, nothing gave him more displeasure than visiting his grandmother Melania Black. She was his paternal grandmother, and her home was located in the dreary magical province of Effarmeck, which Orion Black and his small family had the privilege of visiting every month on the second to last Tuesday.

Whereas the traditional Black infatuation with taxidermy had only slightly trickled down to her son—Orion had beheaded three house elves in his life time and stuffed each of them and tacked them to a plaque—it had hit Melania full on. (His Grandfather Arcturus Black had remarked that Melania wasn't even a Black by birth, but by marriage.) She had taken it upon herself to build upon the small collection of stuffed animals that already was in the family home, and took it to a new level, with dead creatures lining every hallway, in various arrays.

He had been six years old when he'd wandered away from his mother at one of those Tuesday night dinners; he'd walked down the hallway to his grandfather's library, a task that he had done many times with his parents with him in broad daylight.

But then, at nearly nine in the evening, when no candles were lit, only the dim light that came from the faraway beacon of the library, Sirius had begun to panic. The animals that were on either side of him no longer were cute or pretty or any other adjective he had referred to them previously. Now they had shape-shifted into sinister forms with evil glinting in their glassy black eyes, their sewn shut mouths smirking at him evilly.

He had back up, eyes fixed upon the creatures, only to bump into another beast that had taken residence behind his back.

He had let out a shriek and ran back to his mother—who had merely grimaced at the small boy that was clutching to her side and pushed him away.

For months following those figures had haunted his dreams.

It wasn't until now, nearly two decades later, that Sirius remembered those dreams.

Instead of the bright boy he had been then, he had transformed into the haggard, hunched character that was currently holding his head in the corner of a dark, dank cell.

As he was in high security imprisonment, he was not allowed to have a cell mate—for fear that Sirius would do to him the very thing he had done to get into the wretched place. Not that Sirius minded. He wasn't immune to the horror stories of prison rape and hazing.

It was better, he thought, to be left alone and to rot from the inside out from festering bad memories than to be torn from both inside and out.

But he had only been in Azkaban for two months.

He had plenty of time to change his mind still.

--

Two months later, Sirius began to go insane. The continuing pursuance of happiness-sucking Dementors was finally taking a toll on him as his once seemingly unending supply of happy memories was depleting rapidly. The only memory that he had to cling to was one of his last before being imprisoned: the memory of himself being dragged away to Azkaban, laughing in the Auror's faces as he went—knowing that he was innocent.

And it was a shame.

He sometimes thought to himself that it would be so much better if he would just become a shell and get on with it already. It had to be better than living like this. Anything has to be better than this.

But that one memory kept him from going over that edge to insanity.

He shivered as a Dementor glided past his cell. A small chunk of who he was went with the gloomy figure.

He focused on the happy memory that was slipping away—a forest romp with his three best friends.

Prongs and he were racing, Prongs's long legs beating him easily, but he wouldn't give up quite that easily, so he was putting in twice as much effort at the stag. Moony was ahead of them, howling at the moon, and Wormtail was somewhere behind.

The memory slipped away fully.

He looked down at his hands thoughtfully. "I wonder…" he croaked, throat clamping up from the lack of hydration and hoarseness from screaming.

He focused all the magic he could muster into turning into the same shaggy dog that had been running in the lost memory.

A pop later, where the gaunt man had been sitting was an underfed dog, whose tongue was lolling out of his mouth and tail was wagging happily.

Another Dementor swept by, and Padfoot was surprised to feel that none of his memories were being taken away.

Padfoot let out a whine when he felt a lonely pang hit his stomach. He had no one to play with. Prongs was dead, Wormtail was a traitor, and Moony was far away.

He curled up into a ball and stared morosely at the dirty floor.

He let nothingness take over him as he fell asleep.

--

A few days later, Sirius remembered that a human guard was scheduled to come in to check in on them. After all, he chuckled to himself darkly, the Dementors wouldn't be able to let them know if someone was dead in their cell. He knew that Ministry didn't really care—they just sent the guards to see if there was another open cell to shove some poor soul in and let rot.

So with a heart full of woe, he turned back into his human self.

He sat in his usual spot against the back of the wall and stared at his feet.

They were bare, as the Ministry didn't deem it necessary for prisoners to protect their feet. Sirius sneered.

_What a regular Snape I'm turning into_, he thought, dropping the sneer as quickly as it had come upon his face. He hung his head low.

James would have told him that, "You'd better not turn into a Snape, Pads—I'd have to stop being your friend and start pranking you!" His face would have lit up with a superior grin. Then he would stop to shake his messy fringe off of the tops of his glasses, not settling until his bangs were laying neatly above his brow—a signature James move.

Peter would have laughed, egging on James to make fun of Snape some more. His watery blue eyes would crinkle on each side and his dimple in his left cheek would deepen.

Remus would have merely frowned in disapproval and told them that, "Severus really is a decent person once you take the time to get to know him."

Sirius shuddered and smacked his head against the wall. He couldn't afford to think of Remus now.

On the first day he had arrived at Azkaban he had resolved to keep all his memories of Remus in the farthest corner of his mind, with the hopes that the Dementors wouldn't be able to touch them.

He couldn't bear to lose all of his good memories, all of the times he had been with his wolf.

To the top of his mind floated a silvery thought, reminding Sirius thoroughly of a Pensieve. A fifth year Sirius and Remus were walking around the Lake on a warm April day. Sirius was obviously trying to show off, levitating rocks from the side of the path and making them skip across the water, and Remus was rolling his eyes at the other boy's antics.

"Sirius," Remus said as Sirius was levitating another rock.

Sirius let the rock drop into the water with a noticeable splash and then twirled his wand around his fingers and put it, tip first, into his back pocket. "Yes?" he replied, batting his eyelashes, a small smirk on his lips.

Remus frowned. "Why do you do that?" he asked, dropping what he was previously going to say in this question's stead.

"Do what?" Sirius replied, seriously unaware of what he had been doing. He ran a hand through his hair, letting his lips part slightly whilst doing so.

Remus's face flushed and he said loudly, "That!" When he realized that he was on the verge of making a scene, he dropped his eyes to the ground, clearly abashed. "You know…you know that I'm gay," Remus continued, voice low so that Sirius had to focus to hear him.

"Yeah," Sirius said puzzledly, "and you know that none of us have a problem with that…"

"And you know that you're obviously straight," Remus went on.

"Well, yeah," Sirius grinned, while his stomach churned nervously.

"So stop flirting with me, okay?" Remus finished. "Because I know you're just playing around, and I can't handle it any more."

Remus kept on walking, but Sirius stopped. He let Remus's words sink in, before jogging to catch up to the speedy werewolf.

"Remus, wait," Sirius called. He caught up to him and let his hand clasp Remus on the shoulder. Remus shrugged it off but stopped.

"What do you want, Sirius?" he asked irritably. His amber eyes flashed with annoyance and hurt.

Sirius's hand brushed against the nape of Remus's neck. He tentatively stroked the line of Remus's jaw with the back of his fingers, barely touching so that they were ghosting over the pale skin.

Their lips met.

The memory dove into a fuzzy, grey nothing and before Sirius could try to hide it away once more, it was lost to the passing-by Dementor.

"NO!" Sirius roared, eyes tearing up, as he tried to recall the first kiss and could not.

"Damn it!" Sirius cried, tears falling freely, "Damn it all!"

He jumped to his feet and paced around his small cell, furiously trying to figure out a way to keep his memories in tact.

After the twentieth or thirtieth round, he allowed himself to drop to his uncomfortable cot. He knew it was useless.

He curled himself into a ball. His long hair fell into his face. Black upon grey upon ashen.

"Oh, Remus," he whispered. His fingers clawed at the metal bars that sustained his slight weight.

"I love you," he promised fiercely.

--

"How is England's number one prisoner doing?" the guard's superior inquired when the guard reported back to his office in the Ministry.

"As well as a prisoner can be expected to be doing," the guard answered, not lying to his boss yet not telling the truth either.

"What was he doing?" his superior joked, "Laughing hysterically, I suppose?"

The guard laughed nervously, hoping that he wouldn't be goaded into making any jokes in return. "Surprisingly, no. He was just sitting there. Staring at the floor."

"When I went in the cell to make sure he had a pulse," the guard continued, "I saw that he was crying. But it wasn't really like he was crying. He wasn't moving at all, not even when I touched his wrist. Tears were just running down his face, and every so often he would blink or shudder faintly."

The guard looked up at his superior, face confused, "It was so strange."

"Azkaban'll do strange things to a man," the other man said nonchalantly. "Good work, O'Leary. Lucky for you, you won't have to check in on Black for a coupl'a months. The other boys'll get a turn."

O'Leary nodded glumly and checked out of the office.

On his way home, all he could hear was that blank nothingness and all he could see was Black's sullen face.

* * *

Here you go! Sorry for the lack of Remus/Ifan-ness, they'll come back next chapter. =D Review, please and thank you.


	5. 5: Sunlit

"Okay," Ifan slurred after a few more drinks than he had intended on drinking had thoroughly intoxicated him. (After all, he had told Remus with a wink, he wasn't about to be out-drunk by a pair of barely legal lads—especially when challenged. Remus had sighed and followed him to a card table, where Ifan and the two boys proceeded to down liquid amber filled shot glasses.)

Ifan stopped, scrunched his forehead in confusion, and then cocked his head while looking at Remus. "I dunno what I was going to say," Ifan explained, scratching the flesh near his ear, "but I can tell you…" He interrupted himself with a slight hiccup, but then picked right back up, "that it was going to be brilliant!"

Remus merely gave a distasteful look towards the empty shot glasses that littered the card table in various assortments, some arranged into glass pyramids while others had been used to re-enact Waterloo, and the passed out fellows who littered the floor. "It figures," Remus told him, Ifan beaming brightly at him, "that we go out looking for jobs, and you manage to find the dirtiest little bar, in Knockturn Alley, to boot."

Ifan lowered his eyelashes so his eyes were half-lidded and bent his head downwards slightly so he was looking up at Remus through his eyelashes. "Little old me? Do something like that?" Ifan pouted, and then took up a Southern accent from the States. "Why Remus, Ah'm a victim of disappointment in you."

"Uh huh," was all that Remus graced his act with.

Ifan grinned even wider. "You're pretty when you're disgruntled," he told him.

"You're asinine when you're drunk," Remus shot back. Ifan clasped his hand over his heart and fellow back against his chair.

"Oh, you wound me, cruel sir," Ifan returned. "Besides," he said seriously, looking as if he had just blinked away all the liquid and had become sober again, "I was only giving you a compliment, there's no reason to get testy."

"Me?" Remus said in disbelief, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, "Testy?"

"Yes, you. And testy indeed," Ifan yawned. He blinked at Remus blearily.

"I'm tired," Ifan announced, suddenly shooting up from his chair. "We should go home." He counted out what he owed the bartender—"A small fortune," Remus had grumbled—from a small leather coin purse and pushed his chair under the table.

Whistling, he began to walk through the door. Remus was about to follow, but paused and looked at the ground. "What are we going to do about them?" Remus asked aloud, more to everyone than just Ifan.

Ifan whirled around, still walking to the door only backwards. "Leave them there," Ifan said firmly, "They're underage and need to learn not to drink booze in a dangerous bar."

"You knew that they were underage?" Remus asked shrilly.

Ifan shrugged nonchalantly, "They would've gone somewhere else to drink and gotten away with it, so why not have them do it here."

"You competed against them to see who could drink the most!" Remus stated.

Ifan grimaced and put a hand against the side of his head. "Yeah," Ifan agreed, "Maybe not the smartest thing I've done, I'll admit."

Remus sighed. He took Ifan's hand and dragged him out of the bar, and then out of Knockturn Alley. "Remind in the morning that I'm mad at you and not to ask Tom for his famous hangover remedy," Remus instructed.

Ifan grinned slightly, then grimaced again and leaned his head against Remus's shoulder. "I'll forget. And even if I did remember to tell you, you'd still get me some anyway," Ifan replied, smiling slightly.

Remus froze at the sudden contact, but then relaxed and continued walking, dropping Ifan's hand he had been holding onto and wrapping his arm (the one whose shoulder was being used as Ifan's pillow) around Ifan's shoulder so that his head was now being supported by Remus's collarbone.

"You're cushy," Ifan mumbled into Remus's shirt. "Like a pillow."

"I've certainly heard worse," Remus responded. Ifan snuggled his head closer to Remus's neck.

And that was how they continued until the Leaky Cauldron.

--

"I can't pay you much," Tom told Remus, "certainly not enough for a person to live off of, anyway, but you can have the job if you'd like." Tom smiled sympathetically at the tawny haired man before him.

"Thank you so much, Tom," Remus told him, eyes weary. "It means a lot to me. I was seriously worried as to what I was going to do. It hasn't been easy lately…"

Tom clapped a hand on Remus's shoulder. "I know," he consoled, "with all those new Werewolf Laws that were passed, it's a wonder how they expect you all to get along in the world."

Remus grimaced. "They don't," he replied, quietly and morosely. "The lycanthropy legislature is meant for werewolves to be branded, ridiculed, then eventually phased out of society. Believe me," Remus's eyes flashed angrily, "I've read it."

Tom frowned, but told him, "Well, the job starts tomorrow at noon. I'll pay you 13 sickles, 14 knuts for an hour. I'll just need you to do the dishwashing, plus whatever odd jobs there are. Maybe taking out the trash, that sort of thing."

"Thanks so much, Tom," Remus thanked again.

"Don't mention it," Tom replied, before going off to the kitchen to check on the pots that were cooking.

Remus frowned as he walked up the stairs. He knew that he had to tell Ifan about his minor success, but he didn't want to. He knew that Ifan had no luck with job scouting the other day, and he knew that Ifan would most likely never have any luck with that except for menial, hard labor here and there. "Damn those Werewolf Laws," he muttered beneath his breath.

He knew that he had only achieved his small victory that day because Tom was his friend, otherwise he wouldn't have even blinked an eye at his pathetic self. Remus found himself at the landing, and paused outside of Ifan's door, hand raised and ready to knock, but decided against it.

He instead ventured on to his room, where he closed his door behind him and walked over to his mirror morosely. He stared at his reflection, self-pity overtaking him. His sandy brown hair desperately needed a cut, hanging a few inches below his jaw line. His cheek bones were getting more and more prominent every day from the lack of nourishment he was receiving, or rather, not receiving.

And his clothes…he laughed out loud. "Merlin, Remus," he told himself, "You're certainly not getting any less vain in old age."

"Indeed," replied the mirror.

--

Even if Remus would have knocked on Ifan's door, Ifan would not have answered. He wouldn't have been there to.

Instead of curled up in his dingy little room, as he wished to be at this very moment, the brunet found himself standing on the corner of a very bright boulevard, head throbbing painfully in the unusually delightful sun. He raked a hand through his locks and winced. "Bloody sunshine," he grumbled. He rummaged through the knapsack that hung at his side until he found a pair of dark sunglasses, which he promptly slipped over his eyes.

He sighed a sigh of relief and stuck out his hand for a cab.

"Where will it be?" the taxi driver asked politely from the front seat as Ifan slid into the back.

"Do you know where the…" he paused to look at a scrap of paper with a scribbled address on it before continuing, "…Corner Bistro is? On 31st?"

The cabbie nodded and replied, "I do," before pressing on the automated teller machine to signify the start of the trip.

When they arrived—it took only about ten minutes, and had Ifan not been so hung over he might have walked—Ifan slipped the man a ten pounds and got out of the yellow car. He raised his glasses to above his eyebrows and beheld the Bistro in front of him.

It was a cozy little place, with what looked from the outside to be booths along each side of the windows and had a charming chalkboard displaying the daily specials. Ifan grimaced. "He _would_ have picked here to meet."

In the second booth that could be seen from the window, sat a small, blond man, his fingers twirling a coffee straw into his steaming cup of tea, eyes smiling flirtatiously at the young woman who held a notepad and wore a server's apron.

Ifan felt his jaw clench down possessively. _Mine_, his wolf growled internally.

He stalked towards the store and pulled open the door. When the bell that hung on the door rang, Ifan visibly flinched and let the door close behind him. He now had the attention of both the blond man and the server.

"Ifan," the blond man said pleasantly, his eyes following Ifan's form admiringly, "Come, sit down. I was just telling Amanda here that I was waiting for you and couldn't possibly order before you got here." He turned his smiling eyes onto Amanda, who was watching Ifan make his way over bemusedly. "See?" he told her, "I told you that I wasn't lying. Ifan has never been known for his punctuality. In fact, he was late for our engagement party. Can you imagine?" He chuckled kindheartedly.

Ifan slid into the booth across from the other man.

"I'll just leave you to look over the menu for a few minutes then, sir," Amanda told him, setting a menu down before him.

Ifan didn't tell her thanks or even look at her, instead looking at the other man intently. "You don't seem the least bit angry at me," Ifan told him, eyes full of concern and surprise.

The dimples in the man's cheeks became more prominent as he grinned at Ifan. Sincerely, he replied, "Why would I be angry when I get to see my husband again for the first time in five years?"

--

Sorry for the wait, had a bit of a block, but I think that's been solved. =D


	6. 6: Shadowed

_

* * *

_

_The dimples in the man's cheeks became more prominent as he grinned at Ifan. Sincerely, he replied, "Why would I be angry when I get to see my husband again for the first time in five years?"_

"Keep your voice down," Ifan admonished lightly. Despite the wizarding world's newfound tolerance for homosexuality, it still was only 1982 and the Bistro was located in muggle London, were homosexuality was only condoned in private.

His brow furrowed. "I have a reason, Adam," he said quietly, hands clasped in the front of him on the table, eyes cast downward.

"Ifan," Adam said, his happy tone never faltering, "I know you do. I know that there was a good reason for you being gone so long. For not…calling…or writing…" His voice cracked at the end and his smile slipped, but he quickly corrected himself and shook his head. "I'll admit that…at first…I was a little upset. A little depressed. But," he broadened his smile to show a set of white teeth, "I'm fine now. Your return is miraculous, Ifan!" His smile faltered again, "I-I thought you were dead."

Ifan did not smile in return, but merely looked up somberly at the other man's faintly anxious face.

"Do you recall why I first left for Italy?" Ifan began.

"Of course," Adam replied somewhat indignantly, "It was to go to that silly Potions convention that you had been talking about for months. I would have gone with you except that I had a match that week and had to prepare."

"Precisely," Ifan replied. He knew that Adam was lying. He would not have accompanied Ifan to Italy for a Potions Convention under any circumstances.

"Was it very nice? The convention, that is?" Adam asked. "I know that you really wanted to go. I read that it had a large turn out."

"I wouldn't know," Ifan told him, "I never arrived. I had decided when I got to the apparition point in Rome that I would spend a few days exploring the countryside as I had a few days until the convention in Venice. So I bought a cheap tent at a local muggle store and then decided to camp out…I don't even remember what my reasoning was then."

Adam watched him with calculating eyes, mismatching the unworried expression on his face. His hand inched forward to reach for Ifan's, but when Adam remembered where they were, he gave a small smile and placed it on top of his own other hand.

"Later that night," Ifan began once more, his voice dropping to little more than a loud whisper, "I was attacked."

Adam's eyes widened and any coolness he had maintained was immediately gone. His mouth fell open as if he were going to say something, but Ifan continued on, cutting off his undoubted flood of questions. Ifan began to tell him the story of why he hadn't come home for years on end, why he was so different now.

* * *

Ifan felt himself being thrown back to the day that everything had changed. The forest that he had earlier in the day marveled at was growing darker, the sun setting quickly. He knew that he needed to pitch his tent before it became completely black.

He was an executive type of person, not very outdoorsy, not very athletic. So while he struggled with the tent, he found himself breaking down laughing. What ever had possessed him to do this? He could be staying in a nice inn and sightseeing ancient Italy, but instead he chose to rough it miles away from another human being.

Once his tent was pitched, albeit lopsided and with extra parts lying about whose place Ifan had no idea of, he clambered in as the last of the daylight died away. He fell asleep nearly immediately underneath the warm covers he had conjured from a blanket of leaves and was unaware of anything going on outside.

He awoke to a shooting pain in his arm. Blearily, he opened his eyes. He thought he was still dreaming for minutes after that. His arm was torn to shreds and standing over his ruined tent was a feral beast with gleaming eyes. Ifan clutched at his arm and looked at the other being perplexedly. The beast leaned down to take another snap at him, and Ifan fully woke up. He propelled himself off of the ground and into the furry thing, knocking it down.

He searched the ground for his wand, which he found miraculously unsnapped. His broken arm flapping behind him, he ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction of the monster. The thing chased after him.

Incoherently, he mumbled any spells that came to mind. "I-incenda…i-incendio!" he shot the spell backwards with all his might and watched for a moment as the animal's fur caught on fire. The wolf-like thing howled in pain and dropped to roll around on the ground.

Ifan fled.

* * *

Ifan de Grier five years ago was quite different from the Ifan de Grier of today. His dark hair swept down off of his forehead and into his eyes with the flair of a muggle movie star, and he was much thinner. His eyes did not possess the ever-sparkling quality that they held today, but rather a more serious kind of reserve. "I'll be home by your next match, Adam," he had promised quietly before he left, leaning down slightly to kiss the shorter man on the cheek. "I promise."

Adam had believed him then. Why wouldn't he? Ifan was a fantastic lover—someone he could depend on whenever times got rough, someone he could depend on to be there for him. He was a solid man. And if he wanted to go to that silly Potions event, then who was Adam to stop him?

Five years ago, Adam really hadn't cared what Ifan did with his time. His head had been wrapped up in the game; he had been constantly thinking up a great move to put into play the next time he was on the pitch. As long as Ifan was there when he got home at night to rub his shoulders and tell him that he loved him, Adam was perfectly content in admitting that he most of the time had no idea what the other man did with his time.

Yes, he was aware that Ifan held a steady job at Gringotts. Sometimes when he was on his lunch break, Ifan would apparate over to the Quidditch stadium where Adam was practicing or working out and whisk him off to a nice little restaurant not too far from either's work place so that they could apparate back just as easily. Then when the end of his break was growing near, he would peck Adam on the cheek and Adam would straighten his tie for him and Ifan would leave some money with Adam to pay the bill.

Then when Ifan got home at five thirty, he would make dinner for the two of them. Adam would get home usually at six, sometimes later. Sometimes Adam would go off to the bar with the rest of the team and eye some pretty young thing while taking swigs out of a cold beer bottle. He wouldn't get home any time near six, and most of the time, he would return to a sleeping Ifan and a note on the table about how Ifan had put a heating charm on his dinner to keep it warm for him.

Adam knew that he had been a louse five years ago. It had taken him losing Ifan to realize that. Five days after the convention was supposed to have let out, Adam knew that Ifan was not coming home to him.

He remembered how he had just sat on the couch in their flat, the muggle telephone Ifan had insisted on buying at his side and his hands clutching at an old tee shirt of his boyfriend. He had held it to his nose and inhaled slowly, savoring the smell. He would repeat that action everyday for the next year, until the cotton lost the essence of Ifan and began to smell like Adam.

Adam had found the band that Ifan had presented him with one day when he had gotten home from the pitch. Ifan had knelt down on one knee and told him, "I know they won't let us now, but someday, I know they will. I love you so much. Will you marry me when the time comes?"

Adam had humored him at the time. He had smiled brightly and let Ifan slide the ring onto his finger and lead him into the kitchen for a candle lit dinner. He had thought that Ifan was being ridiculous. The proposal stung him. He didn't understand why Ifan would kid around like that; the Ministry would never approve their marriage. The next day he had taken the ring of angrily and thrust it across the basement, working up tears to tell Ifan that he didn't know how he had misplaced it, that he had taken it off to shower and it was gone.

"We'll just have to get you another one," Ifan had told him with a tight smile. They never had.

But now, sitting in the restaurant, Adam had the ring on his left hand. His other ring finger traced the smooth silver as he listened to Ifan speak. "I just got back into London a few days ago. That's why I was so surprised to get your owl last night," Ifan said. "I…" he drifted off as he saw what Adam was doing.

"You still have it," he whispered in shock.

Adam fought back a burning feeling in the mask of his face as he spoke. "I was terrible to you back then, 'Fan. I know I was. But losing you was the worst thing that's ever happened to me. Please forgive me," he pleaded, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"I've always forgiven you," Ifan said softly. His eyes didn't meet Adam's but rather stared down at the table. At his ring-less hand.

Adam gripped Ifan's hands into his own. "I've missed you so much," he sobbed quietly, tears streaming down his cheeks. Ifan let his fingers curl into Adam's but never let his eyes rise to meet the other man's.

* * *

Sorry for the wait, here you are. ^_^


	7. 7: Midnight

* * *

Remus looked up from his task of wiping down the counter in the bar section of The Leaky Cauldron to see that the previously empty pub had acquired someone, who was sitting down at a booth in a darkened corner. Sighing slightly, he set the wet rag onto the laminated wood and made his way over to the figure. "I'm sorry, but we're closed," he said, just loud enough to know that it would carry to the person, who was still half a room away from him. His eyes flitted to the clock on the wall. 1:52. They had been closed for close to two hours now.

The person did not reply. "If you need a room for the night, I could go see what we have open," Remus offered, "If we don't, I can point you to another boarding house not too far away."

"I already have a room," the person slurred. When Remus drew closer, he saw that the person was Ifan.

"Oh, it's just you," Remus said, more relaxed. "You had me worried for a second."

Ifan grinned at him. "Now why would I do that?" he asked. He let out a high pitched giggle and looked at Remus admiringly. "Sit down," he said, pulling on Remus's arm. Remus did so, but sat on the other side of the booth so as to be as far away as possible from the inebriated man.

"You're smashed," Remus observed. Ifan's eyes were red around the edges and it looked like he had been crying, while his hair was mussed and mouth was in a constant grin.

"Jus' a little bit," Ifan replied. "I managed to apparate here alright."

Remus gaped at the man. "You could have been splinched!" he fretted.

"But I wasn't!" Ifan told him gleefully.

Remus looked upon the man with a hint of disappointment. He had been drunken two days in a row and he'd barely known him for five. It was not a very auspicious start to their relationship. "Come on," Remus sighed, getting up. "I'll take you to your room."

"Aw, but Remus!" Ifan objected, "The night's still young! We have places to go, people to see!"

Remus pulled him out of the booth and began to drag him towards the stairs. "More like the morning," he grumbled as the man attempted to make a break for it and run toward the door. "Oh, stop it, Ifan," Remus scolded crossly. He was tired, more than a little cranky because of that, and still had an hour of work to put in after he dragged this tosser to bed. "I have more than enough to do without having to watch after you!" he told him, voice going hoarse at the end.

Ifan sobered at the harsh words. "I know you do," he mumbled. "'M such a screw up. Dunno why you bother with me. Dunno why he bothers with me. Dunno anything…" he trailed off into incoherency.

"Don't make yourself into a martyr," Remus replied irritably. He had fallen for that before, with another dark haired man, but he was not going to make that mistake again.

"I'm sorry," Ifan whispered. He hung his head lowly as they went up the stairs.

Remus tried to stay mad at him, but found that he could not. "Are you an alcoholic?" he asked bluntly.

"Nah," Ifan yawned at him, "Just this week. Just since I met you."

Remus looked at him doubtfully. He would have suggested seeing a Healer at St. Mungo's to anyone else, but he knew that Ifan would not even be allowed an appointment. He did not reply.

He stayed silent until they reached Ifan's room—with Ifan humming absently below his breath. When they arrived, Remus opened the door and pushed Ifan into the room. Instead of heading to his bed, Ifan stayed in the doorframe and stared at Remus. Remus knew that he needed to get back downstairs, but found that he could not think of a good enough reason why not to stay.

"I like you, Remus," Ifan admitted slowly, eyelashes lowered and his hands reaching to clasp Remus's, "I like you a lot." Remus became more and more aware of their close proximity as Ifan's breath brushed across his cheek and Ifan's lips, chapped and bright, found Remus's cheekbone. A shudder racked through Remus's body, causing Ifan to stop his caress to his cheek. He felt Ifan's mouth turn up into a smile. "A bit cold are we?" he teased.

Remus didn't know whether he was actually lucid or if he would forget everything by the morning, and he found himself unaware to control his actions. He had felt this way only a few times before, whenever he had been around Sirius. From what he had analyzed over the years, he thought that it was his inner wolf taking over. All Remus knew at the moment was that he felt a fierce want to claim Ifan as his.

Remus growled lowly in response and turned his head, so that his lips crashed into Ifan's. He took them within his own roughly, careful to avoid the semi-healed scratches that adorned the other's face. Their tongues tangled together, fighting for dominance, a battle that Remus was losing despite his burst of power. Eventually, Remus let go of the struggle and gave into Ifan, letting Ifan lead him backwards until his lower back hit the doorframe.

Remus wrapped his arms around Ifan's neck loosely, resting on top of his broad shoulders. He let the intensity of the kiss drop, moving at a more casual, slow, wanting pace than before. Ifan tilted his head to the right, brushing his long, pointed nose against Remus's delicately rounded one, their magic sparking friction against the cold air.

Ifan let his hands skim down Remus's sides and rest tentatively at Remus's hips. Ifan broke the kiss both for air and for a thought aloud. "You're so bloody beautiful," said Ifan, who then grasped the body part in question, fingers spread with individual energy flowing out of each finger tip.

Remus felt the wolf receding into the back of his mind and pulled himself away from Ifan, shocked. "I…I…" was all that he managed to get out before he fled downstairs.

* * *

The next day, Ifan woke up with a pounding head ache and a fuzzy blur where his memories from last night should have been. He remembered leaving the café after telling Adam that he would stay in touch, but he was sorry and he had to go. He then supposed that he had hopped back into a cab and gone somewhere. Where exactly, he did not remember. Perhaps he had gotten a drink with Remus again, he surmised. That would explain the hang over, and was a plausible enough scenario.

Content, he pulled the covers up over him and went back to sleep.

* * *

"We've noticed that you've employed Remus Lupin recently," Dawlish told Tom that afternoon.

Tom paused from writing in his ledger, and turned to face the two Aurors before him. "What? No Scrimgeour this time?" Tom asked, avoiding the statement.

Shacklebolt grimaced at the man. "We are here to remind you that werewolves by law cannot be employed in public services," he told the balding man. "Because of that, we are giving you two days to terminate Lupin's services, or else you will be answerable to the law."

"He's doing menial labor," Tom protested, "He isn't over the wage limit, nor is he in anyway endangering lives."

Dawlish continued the conversation. "He can't work here," he said pointedly. "If you don't fire him, then there will be serious implications not only for you, but for him as well."

Tom gritted his teeth. "Get out of my pub."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Remus," Tom said softly to the werewolf, who was sitting at the same booth Ifan had been the last morning with his hands clasped on top of the table and his eyes cast downwards. "I wish that things were different. I really do. Don't worry about the rent money; you don't have to pay until you're back on your feet."

Remus's eyes flashed and he looked up at his friend. "I don't know, Tom," he told him hoarsely.

Tom put a pouch onto the table before Remus. The tawny-haired man felt his bottom lip curl in displeasure. "I can't take that," he told him stubbornly. "I don't need anyone's charity." And with that, he got up and fled to his room, leaving behind the pouch and a saddened Tom.

As he passed Ifan's room, he contemplated knocking on his door and telling him everything that had happened. His hand strayed by the door knob, but finally, he dropped it back to his side and went to his room.

He hadn't seen Ifan all day. If that wasn't enough of a sign, Remus wasn't sure what was.

--

Short chapter, but it was quickly posted. So that makes up for it? xD Reviews are lovely!


	8. Interlude 2: to be Imprisoned

**To be Imprisoned**

* * *

The starlit night sky was reflected by a pair of green eyes. He knew he should be sleeping. He never recalled being up this late nor seeing the sky so inconsistently dark and light before. Maybe he should try closing his eyes and opening them again? Maybe this was just a dream. Dark lashes fell upon his cheek.

He was being held by someone. As he shifted in the embrace, he realized that the someone was a lot larger than his mother, or his father, or even Padfoot or Moony. The hum of magic tickled his ears, intertwined with the thrum of a motor.

He opened his eyes once more and felt a sudden cool rush of air as the person who was holding him dipped down to a bumpy landing. A big face was suddenly over his, and he let out a small cry.

"Shh," the gigantic man told him. His eyes crinkled kindly and a broad grin spread across his face, before giving way to a sadder look. "Ih'll be alrigh', Harry."

Harry blinked his illuminate eyes a few times before deciding to trust the man. Then he snuggled into his warm coat and fell asleep.

* * *

The passing of time was irrelevant to Harry. What he was doing right this moment, what he chose to do to live the next second, were all that he cared about. So he was not aware of how often he had that dream, or when/if it had actually ever happened to him. Sometimes he would go weeks without thinking about it, but whenever he caught sight of the stars or when Petunia opened a window and a breeze of fresh air went across his face, the memory would come rushing back to him.

Often, he lost track of when was night and when was day. He had become accustomed to the darkness in his new little home. Usually there were clunking noises that came from his ceiling when it was daytime; he was able to piece that together because Petunia only ever took him out of his cupboard during the day. She would allow him to crawl around on the floor and would feed him every now and then. Just as long as he didn't get too close to the other little boy, the one that Petunia and Vernon called "Dudders", or Petunia would make an angry face and whisk him away to his crevice beneath the stairs.

Then when the light that came in through the windows began to get dimmer, Petunia would feed him and then put him back on his little mat in the cupboard anyway. The squeaking of a door would happen some time later, and Harry would know that Vernon had arrived home.

Then even later, after all the lamps had been turned off and the sliver of light from the bottom of the door went out, the clunking noises above him would happen. Then there would be silence for a very long time.

* * *

Harry's dreams were a hazy reality.

His mother was holding him in her arms, swaying with him in the rocking chair in his room. Snippets of red hair and a blue sweater and yellow walls would flash before his eyes before his memory would settle on his mother's face. Always smiling, always singing a soft melody to him that he had since forgotten. Always fading into a beige sleep where he could hear her saying, "Good night..." and then just before he nodded off fully, "...I love you."

* * *

"Stupid boy!"

Today, reality was unpleasantly clear to him. His lower lip quivered slightly as Vernon continued to yell at him. He hadn't meant to be bad. He had spotted something shiny atop the dining room table that he wanted to get to examine. Petunia and Vernon were sitting at the table, along with Dudders in his high chair. Harry wasn't sure why he wasn't in his cupboard, but he welcomed the chance to bask in the artificial light.

He crawled over to the table, unnoticed by any of the people sitting there. But sitting down he couldn't get at the object. So he had grabbed onto an unused chair and pulled himself into a standing position. A mischievous grin lit up his face and his chubby little hand had reached for the glinting handle but found that he was a few inches short. Instead of giving in to a tantrum, which he was a few seconds away from, he reached for it again. But this time, he lost his footing and grabbed onto the table cloth instead.

The next thing he knew, Vernon's purple-red face was extremely close to his own--he was able to feel the bursts of air from his mouth upon his smaller face--and he was being held by the scruff of his onesie off of the ground.

From this position, he was able to see that the object he had been so intent on getting was merely a fork. Harry's mouth drooped downwards and a wail erupted from it. Vernon merely huffed and told him to shut up, before dropping him unceremoniously back onto the floor and stomping up the stairs.

His tears blurred his sight of the room, the design on the ceiling running together to form one big, white mass that stretched from one corner of his eye to the other, with no end in sight. The green glazed over as he heard Petunia cleaning up the wrecked dinner table around him. A part of him thought that he should be wary of being stepped on by Petunia or prodded by Dudders, but a larger part of him wanted to continue letting the white take over him until he couldn't hear anything at all.

* * *

He always recovered. The confrontation between himself and Vernon was soon lost to the medley of dreams and realities inside of his head, rarely called to the front of his mind anymore. Instead, the reality of his first day outside since he had come to the Dursleys' home or the memory of a purring engine on the starry night sky took its place.

* * *

Sorry for the wait; I could make a million excuses but I won't. ;D


	9. 9: Dawn

**Dawn**

* * *

"**A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP: NEW WEREWOLF LAWS PUT BRITAIN AT EASE**"

Remus swept the week-old newspaper from the top of him bureau, into the waste bin that he was holding at his side.

"**BAGNOLD BARS LYCANTHROPIC ACTIVITY-WIZARDING COMMUNITY REJOICES**"*

A large section of the article below had been cut out, conveniently slicing a growling Fenrir Greyback in two and causing the previously curlicued text to go in a tizzy and randomly dance about the page. It soon followed the other article.

Instead of taking the time to glance down at each old newspaper that was littering the counter, Remus swept his arm across it and finished the ordeal as quickly as he could.

He would have to leave soon.

He didn't have a job. Without any money to give to Tom for the rent, he just wouldn't feel right staying any longer than he absolutely had to. Remus was not one to impose on someone's hospitality.

He did not have much hope for another job. Not with the Ministry knuckling down on him and...everyone else like him.

Some part of him wondered if it would be easier to have his parents still be alive, or even just one of them. He was sure that they would have helped him out. Another part of him was thankful that they didn't have to live to see the day when people fell into such disarray.

It was a bleeding mess. A bleeding mess without any kind hearted people to come along and offer it a bandaid and some antiseptic. A bleeding mess that bled and then scabbed and then had the scab ripped away until it festered to the point of serious illness. Remus gave a hoarse laugh. Even when that bandage was offered, it would be too late.

Remus set the waste basket down with a thump.

Unsure of what he was to do next, he walked over to the window. His fingertips traced the cracked panes of glass until he noticed a large smear of red left in his path. He lifted his hand to his face to see that his finger had caught on the jagged piece of glass.

What utter shit the world was coming to.

Broken things littered his room. The window was jagged, the bureau had a distinctive tilt to it, the mattress had a spring sticking out of its bottom, the wallpaper was peeling around the edges. Remus recalled the foul odor that had worked its way around to the front of the Leaky Cauldron from the trash cans in the back alley.

Nothing was made with any value anymore, Remus thought gloomily. No quality. No class.

He had to get out of here as soon as he could.

Remus eyed the suitcase in the corner that still held the majority of his clothing.

What else did he have to keep him here anyway?

Ifan obviously was just a thing of the past, Sirius was rotting away in prison, all of his friends were dead.

Why couldn't he just leave and never come back?

He felt like he walked headfirst into a brick wall as the answer hit him.

Harry.

Oh Harry.

Remus could not believe how self-centered he had been. All he had been concerned about was his petty relationship problems and that he lost his job, and he hadn't even once stopped to think about poor Harry!

Remus was aghast as he sat down and quickly penned a note to Dumbledore, as surely he would be the one who knew how he could find Harry. All other problems and all reason were shoved to the back of his mind as his pen begged Dumbledore to let him see Harry, to let him make sure that Harry was alright, to let him raise Harry.

If Sirius hadn't been made Harry's godfather, then even Dumbledore had to know that Remus would have gotten the job.

He quickly sealed the note with a bit of hot wax from the dwindling candle residing upon the desk and rushed downstairs to send it off with Tom's owl. As he danced back up the stairs, he came to the crushing realization that he would now have to wait.

* * *

"You've been avoiding me."

Ifan's voice caught, halfway towards a statement but still very much a question. He stared at himself in the mirror with his hands gripping the vanity, supporting his weight.

"Hey, Remus," a friendlier, warmer approach. "How have you been?" Not too directly to the point like before, he thought. "I haven't seen you around lately." Maybe a quick laugh, nice grin, only a slight flash of teeth, Ifan noted. "It almost seems like you're avoiding me."

Ifan's eyes clamped shut, and his mouth pulled into a grimace. All the humor from the laughter had been quickly replaced with a solemn hurt in the last phrase.

"I don't know why you've been avoiding me, Rem, but I really need someone to talk to right now. Well, not just someone--that came out wrong. I need you, Remus. Nothing makes sense anymore. I just...I...I mean..."

He took a deep breath and continued. "Meeting you was the only good thing about coming back to England. I'm sorry for what I did...whatever I did. Tell me what it was and I'll never do it again, I swear."

The mirror reflected the anguish that contorted his face, as well as the dark patches of flesh beneath his eyes and the stubble he had not bothered to charm off. Unable to look at himself anymore, his gaze dropped to his hands that were drumming nervously atop the dresser. His fingernails were ragged and his cuticles were still healing from the last full moon. Ifan shook the memory out of his head and turned his attention to the picture frame that was propped against the mirror.

And then he was reminded of the reason why he wanted to talk to Remus so badly.

He had met with Adam again, and the topic of his housing situation had found itself brought up. Adam had asked him to move in with him. Because, after all, they were boyfriends, weren't they?

Weren't they?

"Damn it, Remus. I need you right now, but you seem so far away."

Ifan recalled the look of dread that had settled upon Remus's face the last time they had met gazes. He had been planning on striking up a conversation with the man, but at the look of terror, Ifan mentally recoiled and found that he had not been brave enough.

Some part of Ifan recognized that Adam had been anything but good for him while they were together. He wasn't blind--he heard when the lock clicked on the front door in the wee hours of the morning when Adam was finally getting home, and he could smell the foreign cologne on Adam's skin when he crawled into bed beside him.

Ifan didn't even know if Remus was interested in him that way. Every time he thought of a relationship with Remus, it felt by even thinking it, he was committing infidelity to Adam. It didn't matter who Adam was or what he did.

Because a larger part of him insisted that they had made an oath to stay together. Ifan was would try anything and everything he could before he would admit that he was a failure. And this relationship was no difference.

Ifan swallowed the ball of dread that had built up in his throat and with it, left the downturn of his mood. Friends was as good of an approach as any, he reasoned with himself. No need to muck what they had up with any romantic nonsense.

"Remus, let's do something today. I haven't seen you in way too long..."

* * *

Dumbledore's eyes were sad as he regarded Remus.

The tawny haired man had settled into a slump in the chair before his desk, a living sculpture of despair. "Isn't there anything I could do?" he asked. He looked up at Dumbledore with tears in his eyes. "Isn't there somehow I could even just see him?" he asked again, more desperate.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said gently.

Remus broke down into tears, something that he would have been ashamed of at any other point in time. But he found himself too broken down to care. His shoulders shook as his chest wracked with sobs.

Dumbledore placed a tin of lemon drops before him.

* * *

Remus wasn't sure how he had convinced himself to go the rally. He wasn't even sure how he had found out about it. But nevertheless, Friday at noon he was standing in a crowd of cheering people holding up signs and wearing shirts boasting clever slogans for pro werewolf rights.

"Fellow lycanthropic victims and friends!" a tiny girl shouted from behind a podium on a platform that had been set up in front of the public wizarding entrance to the Ministry of Magic.** The crowd roared its approval; the people directly in front of Remus even began jumping up and down with excitement. "We are gathered here today to protest the _cruelties, _the _inhumanities_ that the Ministry has been inflicting us with!"

"Because that's what we are! We are victims! We didn't choose this path for ourselves; that choice was ripped away from us by the monsters that the Ministry are letting get away by wasting their time punishing _us!"_

Remus looked about the crowd and noticed how normal looking everyone was. He didn't know what he expected them to look like, maybe more mangy, less well-kept, more like him, more desperate. If he hadn't known otherwise, he would not have pegged most of the people around him as werewolves.

"Are rape victims put in jail for having sex pressed upon them?" the girl asked.

"NO!" the crowd replied.

"Are rapists allowed to slip through the cracks and become _forgotten_ by the Ministry?" she yelled.

"NO!" the crowd chanted. Whether it was the closeness to other people or the topic that was being discussed, Remus felt himself growing hotter with a heat that he couldn't discern from anger or exhilaration.

"Should werewolf victims have their rights taken away because their humanity was stripped away involuntarily..for being _ravaged_ by an uncontrolled beast?" a young man asked, joining the stage with the girl.

The crowd went wild when they heard his voice. "NO!" This time, Remus joined in.

"Should disgraces like Fenrir Greyback, Ameus Malachi, and Leopold Reichsbaugh be allowed to prowl our streets waiting for some innocent person to happen upon them while the Ministry does a shoddy job tracking them down?" he asked again.

"NO!" Remus shouted.

"We are not beasts," the man began to pace slowly about the stage, still facing his audience, "except for one night a month. And my friends, my _family_, we don't even have to be beasts for that night. There has been a discovery of a potion that contains the wolf when taken before the full moon. True, at the moment those who make it are few and far between, making it expensive and difficult to distribute to all who need it."

"But there will be a day when that will be readily available to everyone! And until then we will just have to continue like we always do-contain ourselves in a secure room and lock every door leading outside. Just because the Ministry classifies us as monsters does not mean we have to act like them!"

The rally went by like a blur to Remus, and before he knew it, he was walking towards the stage, hell bent on speaking to the leaders. When he arrived, he realized that he had no idea what he was going to say, but by that time the girl had already spotted him.

"Hello! You must be new, I don't remember seeing you at one of these before," she greeted him brightly. "I'm Allison Honeywhistle."

"Remus Lupin," he smiled back. The man stopped talking to the small group of people he had been talking to and turned to him.

"_The _Remus Lupin?" he asked curiously.

Remus raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, it's not exactly a common name, so I suppose I must be."

The man shook his head slowly up and down with a broad smile on his face. "You were the last student accepted into Hogwarts that was a werewolf," he stated. "I thought I recognized you when you were coming up here."

Remus blanched slightly. "Oh, h-how do you know about that?" he stuttered slightly. His tutelage there wasn't supposed to be public knowledge; in fact, if any of the Pureblood parents had known that he had been attending, Dumbledore would have been sacked from his recent position of Headmaster and his reputation would have been ruined.

The man winked. "Don't worry. Nobody else should know. I have my sources."

Allison laughed and pushed the man playfully. "Don't pay any attention to Jack, Remus. Half the time he doesn't even know that he's being rude."

Remus feigned a laugh as well, but soon found that it grew sincere. It was very easy for him to like these people.

"I'm sorry, Remus," Jack said, "That was rather rude of me, I'll admit." He shot a roll of his eyes to Allison. "I'm Jack Delvatta, champion of lycanthropes and courier of the New Age of Equality."

"As well as a total ass when he wants to be," Allison teased, "Anyway, we're really glad you came; we love newbies. Are you a friend, family member, or one?"

"I, uh, am one," Remus told her reluctantly.

The bubbliness faded from Allison's person and was replaced with a serious demeanor. "Remus, you don't ever have to be afraid of telling people who you really are here. We've all been in the same position as you in one point of our lives, ridiculed for who we are or who the people we love are. Don't be scared of us, please?" she asked.

"It's just...so odd," Remus admitted, eyes flitting up to meet hers from their position looking at the ground and then back down again. "It's a new experience is all. Are...you...?"

"No," Allison said softly. "I am not."

"Oh," Remus felt a blush creeping up the side of his neck.

"My twin brother Aaron was bitten when he was eleven. Our family had gone camping for the weekend, and the two of us were wandering around alone while my parents took down the tent. It was getting dark, and we decided to play hide-and-seek." Allison smiled sadly.

"Well, to cut to the chase, although I received my acceptance letter to Hogwarts when I was eleven, Aaron never would have. I'm a muggle born, and he didn't have any magic in him at all. So rather than become a werewolf like I would have should I have been bitten, he died a few nights later," she finished.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Remus told her.

She gave him a glum smile. "But everyone here has the same story. The same break-your-heart, make you want to cry tale that everyone feels awkward about once you've confided in them. Here we don't have to worry about that. We've all been through it--we all understand."

Jack reiterated, "She's right, Remus. You don't have to be afraid of us here."

For the first time in a long time, Remus felt as if he belonged.

* * *

"Remus!" Ifan called as Remus walked by him on the way to the door. Remus didn't pay him any attention, but continued walking.

"Hey Remus!" he tried again, this time a bit louder. But Remus still did not appear to notice.

"Remus, look at me, damn it!" he ended up bellowing at the other man. Remus whirled around and glared daggers at him as he noticed the people that were now watching them.

"What do you want from me?" he hissed icily, walking rapidly back towards Ifan.

"Nothing!" Ifan replied indignantly. His nostrils flared slightly, and he resisted the urge to hit the other man. "Just for you to tell me what the hell I did wrong!"

"If you don't remember doing anything to offend me, then why would you think you did something wrong?" Remus coolly deflected.

"I obviously did something," Ifan said, more calmly this time.

"If you don't remember doing anything wrong, then obviously you did not," Remus restated coolly.

"How can I make it up to you?"

Remus hesitated.

Ifan added, "Anything at all, barring blatantly illegal activity. If I wasn't on the special persons list of the M.O.M., I would say anything at all. But you know?"

Remus let himself laugh, and a glimmer sparkled in his eyes. Ifan felt hopeful. "I went to this rally last weekend. It really was amazing, 'Fan, to see the amount of people who sympathize with people like us..."

Ifan stiffened.

"With werewolves," Remus continued, "and to see that even people who aren't werewolves feel like we're being treated unfairly, that we should regain our rights. It's the total opposite of what the media's feeding us. People are just scared to act out alone even though they don't like what's going on, regular people. That's the only weapon that the Ministry really has--making sure that the media is spewing out lies so that people won't be comfortable enough to act out. But that's going to change! The speakers at this rally, they were amazing, 'Fan. You should meet them. They really have a plan to bring us all into the future, to make the British wizarding community a great place again..."

"Well, anyway," Remus continued, flushed slightly from his excitement, "I wanted to know if you would come with me to the next rally. I really think you'll be impressed, I really do."

Ifan did not respond for a while. He carefully chewed over his words until he finally said, "I can't, Remus. I'm so sorry."

Remus visibly did a double-take. "Why not?"

"It...it just wouldn't feel right," Ifan explained.

Remus tried to hold his disappointment inside of him, but let a annoyed huff pass through the barrier. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"A rally?" Ifan said calmly, "Peace talks? I can't help but feel like they're just glorified beginnings to people getting fed up with each other and pushing and shoving to the point where Aurors have to get involved...and then people could end up getting arrested, Rem. You know the Ministry doesn't care about us. I have to think about what I do. I can't just be reckless and throw away everything that I have going for me. One misstep for you could just mean a night in jail, a probation officer. A misstep for me could end up in my wand getting snapped, and I just can't let that happen."

Ifan said quietly, "Please understand."

"They're just tame rallies, Ifan, really. Nothing like that would ever happen. They're much more civilized than that," Remus assured him.

"I can't take that chance," Ifan replied.

Remus sighed, and Ifan noticed how tired he appeared to be. "Then what do you want, Ifan?" he repeated wearily.

Ifan wet his lips and let them fall apart, leaving his mouth open as he searched for the right words. Finally, he just said frustratedly, "You!"

Ifan watched carefully for any emotion Remus might let slip. Remus would not meet his eyes, and he remained eerily still for a moment. Then he clenched his jaw and walked away.

* * *

*Millicent Bagnold was the Minister of Magic from 1980-1990, until Fudge took over.

** Yeah, yeah. No such thing ever mentioned in the book, you have to entered the Ministry of Magic through Muggle London. I know. But for the purpose of this story, I'm making another entrance where people protest frequently and the Minister gives his speeches. (Because I can't see this happening in Diagon Alley, or in Hogsmeade. And then I'm out of places for this to take place.)


End file.
